


Smoking Gun

by nightfever



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:33:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfever/pseuds/nightfever
Summary: New York has been through a lot since the Battle of New York, almost being wiped off the map and having to be rebuilt from the ground up. Fortunately for those in the criminal underbelly, this means a foothold in gaining control of the city.Enter the Ranskahov brothers. Their control over 37th Street had been met with compliance until the collapse of SHIELD, where a bitter ex-agent stands up for her family diner when she just wants to enjoy her Bubbe's kreplach.





	1. "I Don't Get Enough Pastries For This Shit."

I preferred the opening shift to the closing shift, partly because I liked watching the sunrise and partly because I would get to sample the first batches of pastries for breakfast. The closing shift, however, reminded me of all the things that lurked in dark corners.

Of course, these were irrational fears since I could look after myself without much difficulty but what if I couldn’t? What if, after the pain of restarting my life, I was pulled back into the rubble and told to dig?

I had nearly torn my family apart after the collapse of SHIELD and seeing the grief I had put them through, it’s a mystery as to why they had welcomed me home. Not hearing of my whereabouts, they had assumed me dead and had begun organising my funeral, only being corrected once they had gone to register my death and had been told by an official that I had changed my place of residence in the past six hours.

I had moved to Washington DC briefly to run through major safety checks, staying for the job offer and the shame that stopped me going home. Running through the motions but not committing myself and calling the city home. It wasn’t just the laid-back attitude of the city or the nightlife but the whole city felt wrong. There wasn’t a frantic rush every morning, swearing drunks on the subway or convenience stores conveniently on every corner. The connection I felt with New York just wasn’t there and with no tether to keep me there, I asked to be transferred to the New York division.

My grandparent's diner had been successfully avoided for the first two months I had been back and although I could find a challah that reminded me of Bubbe’s and a rugelach that was only slightly off, there wasn’t anything that could compare to her kreplach. I had thought that going back during the lunch rush would be enough to go undetected but that clearly hadn’t been enough and was shortly discovered and outed by Dahlia. Of course, my parents didn’t hate me for my involvement with SHIELD and only hated the fact I had thought they would, insisting that they would love me no matter what as they pushed plate after plate of kugel and babka.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” I announced, checking my watch as I wiped down one of the tables. There was only one customer, a regular whom I had seen once every week or two for the past couple of years, who was finishing off the house special French toast and apple tea. I headed to the kitchen to drop off the coffee pots and tell Devin to go home.

“You sure, Ro?” he asked, moving to fold his apron away,

“There’s no reason to stay, we close up in five,” I said, moving the container of bagel dough to the end of the station, “I’ll punch you out, too,”

“You’re a star,” Devin grinned, heading out the back door, calling not to have too much fun behind him.

Smiling tiredly, I returned to the front to collect the man's dishes, slightly surprised when he was waiting for me at the counter.

“Delicious as always, Rochelle, thank you,” he praised, his Russian accent lilting his voice,

“No problem,” I answered, “What’s your favourite item on the menu?”

“I want to say the caramel egg cream but I love the Reuben,” he smiled, “Can I have this weeks payment?”

I frowned, “For what?” He asked for the ‘payment’ too casually, so it must be reoccurring. Why would we pay him? What would we pay him for? I can see the outline of a gun in his jacket in the glow of the overhead light and I make the connection. “I’m not paying up,” I scowl, his eyebrows twitched in annoyance,

“You don’t want our protection?” he asked lowly,

I leaned against the counter, my fingers brushing the handgun stuck underneath, “From  _ what _ ?” I spat, “Your  _ mob buddies _ ?”

He let out a chuckle and cracked his fingers,

“We’ve been very nice to your family, seeing as your knish reminds us of home but we don’t have to be nice,”

I didn’t bother holding back the bite in my tone “So you’re going to what? Smash the windows? Torment the customers? Break my legs? My family’s had enough with bullies like you. So if you wanna go, come on.”

“Your attitude is going to be a problem,” he commented, turning and stepping towards the door, “But we’ll soon sort that out.”


	2. Guilt and Chocolate

The skirt of my uniform felt damp with the sweat from gripping it so tightly into a sausage for so long. I needed some sensation to at least distract me from being yelled at by my mom with the occasional words of agreement from ta, my Bubbe’s wails and sobs in the background making me feel even worse.

I wanted to get up and leave instead of being scolded like a child for standing up for my family, but I wasn’t sure my legs would support me if I did. Mom had always told me: ‘ _ never give anybody the opportunity to yell at you _ ’ and growing up, I abided to that rule as closely as possible; getting up to trouble but never getting into trouble. Eventually, that streak died out but I still avoided trouble as best as I could, almost getting killed in the field a few times on a limb that a half thought plan would work and get me a less drastic punishment than I would’ve received otherwise.

I had honestly meant well, knowing in the moment that I would be cleaning up that mess for some time. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to stay home and if endangering my family allowed me to do so, then I’d selfishly put my own needs first.

“ -  broke your cousin's legs, Shelly, they’re serious people!” mom pleaded, keeping the back of the dining table chair in a white-knuckled grip,

“Ma,” I finally said, suddenly looking up to meet her eyes, “I’ll deal with them - I promise. I know what I’m dealing with, mom. I think you’re forgetting that I work with the government, twice . I’ll open every morning and close every night and if you want I’ll have an agent in every day for you.” I released the skirt, trying and failing to smooth out any of the creases as my mom sighed and moved comfort Bubbe.

I stood up to put the kettle on but sat down again when ta waved me off.

“You’re going to get killed!” Bubbe wailed and I almost jumped in my seat at the suddenness of it but regained my composure as best as I could,

“I’ve handled bigger and badder, Bubbe, these guys are nothing, I swear,”

“They’re nothing like Prohaszka! These men are worse, Rochelle, _ they’re worse _ !” her hands trembled so hard the kitchen towel in her grip was shaking,

“ _ Bubbe _ ,” I came to crouch in front of her and took her hands, “I’ll deal with them. You don’t have to worry about them anymore, I swear.” I kissed her knuckles before standing up to grab my mug.

I was tired, and this wasn’t my job, but I still reminded myself why this was my responsibility: I put myself in this situation and the consequences of not looking after it greatly outweighed the extra two hours of sleep. The fresh pastries didn’t hurt, either.

Bleary taking a bite of leftover palmier, I turned to stifle a yawn. Through the window, it was dark but beginning to get light, the sky that dark almost purple shade of night-before-dawn and the street quiet except for early risers or those making their way home. I eyed the yellow cab slowly driving by, wondering today was the day I would have to duck to avoid a shooting and if I would drop my coffee in doing so. Then, as an afterthought, how much it repairs would cost and how much the insurance would cover and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for my first thought being about myself instead of the family.

Sighing, I placed the mug on the counter with one hand and pinched the bridge of my nose with the other before pushing off the counter and heading to the kitchen.

“Need a hand, ta?” I called, joining him at the station as he twisted the challah dough into shape. He hummed in response,

“Can you bring me the cinnamon sugar and dark chocolate from the storeroom, bubbeleh?” he requested, only looking up to flash a brief smile and return to work. I didn’t say anything, doing as he said and returning quickly with his ingredients to place beside him. I’ve seen the way he worked with mom and Bubbe and I couldn’t help but feel envious of how everything they made came out gorgeous every time; how the flavours melded together in harmony whilst mine came out almost but not quite right.

I didn’t like to help in the kitchen whilst they were cooking for the restaurant, but I liked helping with the finishing details - like cutting the cookies, broiling and baking the bagels, icing the cakes, stirring the sauces and soups and, of course, taste testing.

“Did you find what the walnut and cinnamon sugar babka go with?” I asked finally, washing the empty dough container,

“You were right - cherries. I didn’t think it was going to work but, leh, it worked,” I half turned and grinned at his look of surprise,

“And are you going to try the almond strudel now? It’ll go with a pear and fig -”

Ta sighed suddenly, placing the knife down,

“I know you’re only trying to look after us but you don’t need to do this, Rochelle,” he said, sounding tired. “I know you like to help people but this? It isn’t the way - look at what SHIELD did to you. How many times have you given everything and had it blow in in your face for that job? And look,” he gave a false huff of laughter, “What did SHIELD give you? Accusations of terrorism? of  _ Nazism _ ? How many times have you almost died for someone else, bubbeleh?” 

Taking this in, I stared at the chopped chunks of chocolate on the cutting board, running some of the words in my head. It was like dissociating, in a way; being present but not really. It wasn't as bad as he thought, though. SHIELD gave me a family when I felt like I didn't have anyone and although the outcome wasn't always perfect, the number of times I've 'almost died' has been surprisingly low for the number of times I've put myself on the line (purely for the lack of thinking things through, on my part). SHIELD may have been portrayed as some big Nazi terrorist organisation by the media but that was only a small percentile of the people there and it wasn't what SHIELD was at heart.

“Live for yourself. Put you forward, for once. And if not for you, for us - your mom and me, your Bubbe, okay?”

“You wouldn’t tell Levi this,” I muttered guiltily, watching my foot as I scuffed my shoe on the floor like a child scorned,

“Because Levi cares more about himself than you,” I heard him sigh again and lean on the station, then the smile in his voice, “You know how much he loves himself, Rochelle,”

“He does love himself,” I agreed, smiling slightly as I looked up at him,

“We’re just worried about you, leh,” he said quietly.

I didn’t have anything to say so I stayed silent, then turned to finish washing the container lid after ta resumed chopping the chocolate.

Wetting my lips, I swallowed the lump in my throat,

“Chili goes with chocolate,” I suggested, the tension fading away with those few words back to the easygoing silence. I returned to the front of the house, grabbing my coffee and turning on the radio, “Asiago cheese, lavender, uh, honey, caramel. Why don’t you make something with white chocolate? If you use white, you can use lemon -”

“Lemon and white chocolate? Ugh. Give me something original.”


End file.
